


Blood and Water / Milk and Coffee

by noonlighted



Series: dream smp fics [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted Suicide, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Phil is a wizard, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Misses Toby Smith | Tubbo, dream is fucking evil, l'manberg, sad sad all i write is sad shit i'm sorry, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, tommy's depression arc, welcome home theseus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noonlighted/pseuds/noonlighted
Summary: After a failed suicide attempt, Phil, Techno and Wilbur find Tommy and decide to take him home.
Series: dream smp fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055483
Comments: 22
Kudos: 671
Collections: Completed stories I've read, MCYT





	1. blood and water

**Author's Note:**

> another sad one boys! i wrote this so fucking quickly so i could get this out of the way before the stream tonight. i promise it gets happier in the second part, sorry :( excited to write SBI because i love it <33 ps: i know the tenses are wrong in some parts, sorry, i'll fix it asap. (it's supposed to be present tense aha)
> 
> _tw: attempted suicide, vomiting_

He wakes up every morning with blood and water at the top of his throat. Blackness. Lungs screaming for air. And then the realisation. He can't breathe. _I can't breathe._

Each day, he seems to be further away from the beach, further away from the surface. The first time it happened, Tommy had thought it was a nightmare.

_Something is holding his throat, squeezing so tightly that he thinks he's going to pass out. It's cold, so cold he can barely think. It's freezing his brain. He thrashes desperately, but his limbs are like lead. It's too dark to see anything, and Tommy tries to scream, but when he opens his mouth, something cold and salty floods in. He opens his eyes. Seawater. He's at the bottom of the sea. He breaks the surface, his mind ablaze with pain and panic, coughing up seawater. He leans over the sand on all fours, retching, spewing seawater and bile and the remains of last night's salmon onto the beach._

_What's happening to me_? he thinks. _Have I finally lost it?_

Perhaps one day he won't have the energy to swim up. That's not really suicide, is it? It's not like he tries to wake up at the bottom of the sea. He hits his forehead with the base of his palm. _Don't start thinking like that now. I can't give up._

He fingers the pages of the book Techno had given him when he had visited. _Greek Myths I_. It was cruel, he knew, but in a way he was grateful. Something to do.

He flicks to the page Techno has marked with a pink sticky note. _338, The Death Of Theseus_. Tommy snorts and rolls his eyes. _Okay, Techno. Very funny._  
He turns a couple of pages to the next sticky note. A sentence is underlined in green ink.

_But Lycomedes had long regarded this estate as his own and, under the pretence of showing Theseus its boundaries, inveigled him to the top of a high cliff, pushed him over, and then gave out that he had fallen accidentally while taking a drunken, post-prandial stroll._

He strains his eyes at the old-fashioned words, trying to make sense of them, and shakes his head. "Prick," he mutters.

"Tommy!" He hears Dream's voice from across the bay. He looks up.

"Hey Dream," he says, trying to force a smile. It feels wrong on his face, and he drops it. He's taking his armour off before he even realises it.

"Thank you," Dream says, as Tommy kicks the pile of armour down the hole. The iron clangs against the rocks as it falls. There's a hiss of flame as Dream lights the stick of dynamite, and a bang. Tommy has already turned away. On the first day he stayed at the hole for hours, refusing to speak to Dream. " _That was my new pickaxe. That was my new diamond pickaxe and you just fucking blew it up_!" But now he knows there's no point. He looks out to the sea. It's strangely calm today, the surface flat and black.

"What happened with your party, then?"

"You know," Tommy mutters.

"I mean, did you ever find out what happened to the invites?"

Tommy sighs. It was the first frost today, and the grass is laced with white. He's still shivering from the sea.

"Here." Dream passes him his cloak. "It's cold today."

Tommy wonders whether he should tell him about his nightmares. (Are they really nightmares at all, if they're real?)

"I asked Wilbur," he says, slowly, "And he says he definitely gave them out."

"So why do you think no-one came then?" He seems genuinely curious.

"I don't know."

"What about Tubbo?"

Dream's casual tone is like a knife to his chest. "He didn't come." He says it so quietly he barely hears it himself.

"What?"

"He didn't come! He didn't come, okay? Nobody fucking came." And he sinks to the sand.

"Oh Tommy." Dream placed his arm around the boy's hunched, shaking frame.

"No-one ever comes," he says, bitterly.

"I come."

"Yeah, but—why didn't Tubbo come, Dream? Wilbur said he gave him the invite himself."

"I—" The man seems to stop himself. "I didn't want to tell you this, Tommy—"

"What?"

"Tubbo burnt his compass. I saw him do it."

Tommy jerks his head around to face Dream. "What? You can't be—you're not serious."

"It was the same as yours. I thought it was special, but he just tossed it into the lava."

Fresh tears well at the corner of the boy's eyes. "You're not lying?"

Dream shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I really didn't want to tell you."

"And he just threw it?"

Dream nods. "He laughed." Underneath the mask, the man smiles, watching Tommy's face crumple. _Reel it in, Dream_ , he thinks. _It needs to be believable._

"Even if I came back, even if I managed—" he rubs his eyes fiercely. "I can't believe Tubbo would do that."

"I know. I thought you two were friends."

Tommy's eyebrows push together. Subconsciously, he fiddles with the chain around his neck. The needle of his compass points towards the nether portal.

"Are you my friend, Dream?"

"Of course."

"Then why did you exile me?"

Dream speaks gently, as though Tommy was a small child who was asking why he'd put the toys away. "I didn't exile you, remember? That was Tubbo."

Tommy sniffs and looks down at his knees, still fiddling with the compass.

"And who actually came to your beach party?"

Tommy pauses, as though he's reluctant to say the words. "You did."

"So from what I can tell, the people in L'Manberg don't care about you very much."

He goes very still. The tide is starting to come in, waves washing up closer and closer to where they sit. Wind rushes in his ears. _I'm so cold. I'm so cold._

"Thank you, Dream," he says finally.

"No problem." And the man stands up, giving the boy's shoulder one last squeeze. The boy takes the cloak from around his shoulders.

"No, you keep it. It's going to be a cold night."

The boy shakes his head, smiles weakly. "Don't worry, I'll manage."

Dream takes his cloak, folding it over his arm. It's a pale green, and it makes Tommy think of Tubbo. He scrunches his face up, trying to shut the thoughts out. _He doesn't care about you. He burned the compass._

*

He doesn't even wait until morning. He wants it to be intentional, to feel every painful second of it and know that on-one was coming to save him because nobody cared. He walks straight into the water, flinching as the freezing water grabs at his ankles.

"Nobody cares," he mutters under his breath. "Nobody came to the party."

Nobody came. Nobody came. He had been so excited to see all his old friends, to see Tubbo, God. Nobody had come. They won't miss me, he thinks, as the waves lap around his chin. He's scared, of course, he's fucking terrified, but there's a strange feeling in his chest too, like it had to be this way. Like this was what he was meant to do.

The sea is so cold it takes his breath away. _I won't be needing it for much longer anyway_ , he thinks, half-smiling at the sad, stupid joke.

His lungs are on fire. Everything's screaming, his thoughts crashing in time with the waves.

Air, air, air. Every cell is burning, crying, shouting for air. But the boy pushes himself to the bottom again and again, praying that the current will take hold soon. He feels weak and cold and tired. _I can't take this much longer._

And then, when it seems as though someone is reaching into his chest and ripping out his organs one by one, when he's not sure if he could bring himself to the surface even if he wanted to, everything goes black.

*

They come later— _too late_ , Dream thinks, as he stands watch behind the trees. Philza, Techno and Wilbur. "Tommy!" Wilbur calls out in his usual blithe voice, "I've got a surprise for you!"

He watches Wilbur turn to grin at Techno and Phil.

Silence. The wind starts to scream.

"Tommy?" Wilbur calls again. "Perhaps he's asleep—"

"He's gone."

Wilbur and Phil jump at the sound of Dream's voice.

Technoblade's eyes narrow. "What are you doing here?" It's not a question he wants answered.

"He's gone," Dream repeats.

"What do you mean?" Wilbur says, laughing. "He's always saying about how he's not allowed to go anywhere."

Dream points at the sea. "I tried to save him, I swear I did. But it was too late. The currents are strong this time of year, but I think if he hadn't drowned he would've died of hypothermia anyway."

Wilbur freezes, silver eyes wide, mouth open. "What?"

But Philza is already running, running towards the sea. He throws his coat and his hat onto the sand, diving into the waves.

Will looks back at Dream, to confront him, to bargain with him, to scream at him—anything—but he's disappeared. He looks at Techno instead, and they follow their father to the beach.

Phil stays under the waves for a long time, so long that Wilbur starts to worry that he's drowned too. But finally, he surfaces, holding a thin body in his arms. Tommy. Will and Techno run towards him, crashing through the waves.

"Is he alright?" Will asks. "Is he alive?" It's what they're all thinking.

"Give me a second." He lays Tommy's body down on the beach, listening for a pulse. "Techno, pass me my cloak." It's in his serious voice, careful and concentrated, _now is not the time to fuck around_. He reaches into one of the many pockets and pulls out a small vial of something. They both peer to see, but Philza covers it with his thumb. "You two, go collect dry wood. We'll be needing a fire."

The minutes seem to stretch into days as they walk back towards the forest.

"It was my fault, Will."

Wilbur turns to face his brother. "Techno, I'm sure it's wasn't—"

"You don't understand," he says, sharply. "It was a stupid joke and now he's dead."

They stand in silence.

"Did you know?"

"What?"

"That it was this bad?"

Wilbur shakes his head. His fingers are stained dark blue. "I never knew."


	2. milk and coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sbi :') the fact that techno is writing the script confirms that he wants more sleepy bois and i love him for that. this one's way more happy than last chapter!

The last person he expected to see when he finally opened his eyes for the first time in days was Technoblade. Wilbur, or maybe Phil, but never him. He stands awkwardly in the corner of Tommy’s room, cracking the bones in his hand.

“Welcome home, Theseus,” he says, in his deep, sarcastic voice. There’s something else there, too. Something sad. Something broken.

Tommy smiles weakly. “Shut up.”

“Alright.” There’s a thousand words in there, a thousand _I’m sorrys_ and _please forgive mes_ and _are you alrights_. But he contents himself to sit by Tommy’s bunk on the faded red carpet. “Your hair’s long.” It almost reaches his shoulders, dirty blonde and shaggy.

Tommy makes a _hmph_ noise, and sits up. He’s so tall now, he has to hunch to fit under the bunk without banging his head.

“I could plait it, if you want.”

“No.”

“Just to keep it out your face.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”

Tommy’s eyes light up. “A special one? Like how Mum used to make it?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Tommy grins, and then sighs. “Fine.” He climbs off the bed and onto the floor where Techno sits, facing away from him. “Just this once, until I can get it cut again.”

He lets Techno brush the dirt out of his hair that Phil didn’t catch, lets him plait it while he talks and talks and talks about nothing much, really, but it’s been so long since anyone listened.

“Done,” Techno says. He watches as Tommy tries to twist his head around to see the plait in the mirror. There’s a question that he’s been wanting to ask for days, and he wonders whether he should— _It’s now or never, really_.

“Tommy?”

“Mm?”

“Did something happen with Dream?”

Tommy freezes.

“It’s only that he was there when we arrived. He said he tried to save you.”

Tommy’s eyebrows push together in a harsh line of confusion. “What? No, Dream left before I even—before I even did it. He left—” His eyes harden. “He left me. He never—he left me. He never saved me. He didn’t even try.” He stares into the mirror, scrunching up face. Thinking. He leans back on his ankles and calls into the corridor, “Will?”

“Yes?” Wilbur’s face appears around the bedroom door, silver and smiling. “Your eyes are very blue today!”

Tommy glances in the mirror. _They are pretty blue_ , he thinks.

“Will—how come nobody came to my party?”

“Your beach party?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he says, in his quiet, raspy voice, “I’d got about halfway through the invitations, and then Dream came to me and told me you had changed your mind, and the party would be in five days instead.”

Tommy takes a sharp breath.

“Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“Let’s kill that green snaky motherfucker,” Tommy mutters. He seems angry, but also relieved. Lighter, somehow.

“You’re mixing myths, Tommy. Perseus—”

“I get it! You’re a nerd!” He throws a pillow at Techno.

Techno glares at him for a second. And then he laughs, shakes his head, and Tommy begins to laugh too. Wilbur smiles, not knowing what’s going on, but happy to see his brother awake, alive.

*

They had settled back into their usual routine quicker than Phil would’ve thought.

“Who keeps leaving the milk by the coffee machine?” he yells.

“Not me!” Techno calls back. “I only drink black.”

“Tommy!”

There’s a thumping sound above him as Tommy crashes down the stairs. He’s still thinner and paler than he should be, but his dark circles are lessening, and he’s got his old defiant look back.

“What?” he says, innocently.

“Can you stop leaving the milk by the coffee machine, it’s going to go off.”

“Why did you assume it was me?” he says, crossing his arms.

“Because Techno doesn’t take milk in his coffee, Will’s a ghost, and I know it wasn’t me.”

Tommy lets out a snort of contempt.

“You shouldn’t be drinking coffee, it’s not good for you. It’ll give you anxiety.”

He snorts again.

“It _will_.”  
“How come Will and Techno can have coffee but I can’t?” He grabs the milk and shoves it back into the fridge. Phil winces as he hears the bottle clink together.

“Careful.”

“Answer my question!”

“Because,” Phil begins, worn down from repeating the same answer hundreds of times, “Will and Techno are quite a bit older than you. And they’re not recovering from a suicide attempt.”

“It was not—”

“Oh yeah, because when we found you in the water we thought you were trying to have a swim.” He eyes Tommy, and there’s sincerity behind the jokes. “Seriously, Tommy. It’s not good for you.”

Tommy rolls his eyes and closes the fridge. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He’s wearing Will’s old Star Wars pyjamas, which leave several inches of bare ankle exposed.

“Dad?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Will says my eyes are bluer. Like, than before, I mean.”

Phil pauses, glancing at his son. “Perhaps.”

Tommy stares. “What is that supposed to mean.”

“You didn’t know there was magic in the family?”

Tommy gapes at him. “Magic?

“How do you think Will makes the blue?”

He’d never thought about it.

Phil flexes his fingers—purple sparks flash in the air.

“Woah.”

Phil grins. “Pretty cool, right?”

“Can I do that?”

“Probably something similar.”

Tommy looks in wonder at his dad. He wants to say something, anything, to beg him to teach him magic, to thank him for saving him, but nothing comes out except a long string of stuttered syllables. Tears appear at the corners of his eyes. He wipes them away—he doesn’t cry, he never cries. “I missed you, Dad.”

Phil smiles, eyes shining. Tommy runs to him, hugs him, hugs him so hard he thinks he might break apart. He’s missed this. He’s missed this so badly it hurt, a raw, hollow, scraping feeling in the pit of his stomach. He can feel Phil stroke the back of his head, the way he used to when he was little, when Phil could still pick him up. When getting rid of the monsters was as simple as switching on the light and taking a look under the bed.

“I missed you too.”

*

There’s nothing nicer than orange slices by a campfire, Tommy decides that night. 

It’s far too cold to be outside, really, especially in the state he’s in, but he begged and begged Phil, and promised that he would stay wrapped up and would go inside as soon as they were finished. They eat kids food—potatoes wrapped in tin foil and cooked in the embers of the fire; baguette stuffed with melted squares of chocolate; mashed bananas with cream and brown sugar. Because they’re kids, really. Kids playing war.

Smoke and heat and home, and the bittersweet taste of citrus on his tongue.

 _I’ve had them_ , he thinks. _I’ve always had them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! all interaction is greatly appreciated, but especially comments. i will love you forever if you leave me comments <33
> 
> pear


End file.
